


Maladie Du Pays

by threewick



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Established Harry Hart | Galahad/Merlin (Kingsman), Eventual Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Fix-it fic, Hamfisted Metaphors, Harry Has No Memories, Just A Whole Load of Pain, Kingsman: TGC, Lepidoptorist!Harry, Loneliness, M/M, Soft!Eggsy, Sorrow, soft!harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-01-31 00:18:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12664425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threewick/pseuds/threewick
Summary: And then Harry laughed - actually laughed, toothy and dimpled, and Eggsy looked as though he’d swallowed the sun. The laugh emboldened him to put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, and Merlin watched, far removed, as Eggsy guided him onto the jet.When Merlin had tried to put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, Harry had cringed away as though slapped.--Or, the miserable fic where Harry has no memory but he feels safe with Eggsy, and Merlin wonders how the hell it had all gone so wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

The day Harry comes home, it is snowing.

The house is glazed with it, sugared white across the eaves and roof, tufts of it fluffed up on the hedges and postbox. The taxi is an interruption of sleek black, disrupting the powder as it draws to a stop just in front of the door. For a moment there’s stillness, the pre-dawn morning resettling into itself. And then a door clicks open, two long legs stepping out to press, hesitantly, into the low snowdrift beside.

It’s Harry’s homecoming after months of mourning. He had been dead - they’d all seen it, had been wondering with a morbid obsession where on earth his body had gone, what the fuck Valentine had done with it, done  _ to _ it. There had been the scramble to defuse the Valentine situation, the arduous, numbing task of putting the world back together, and then… sorrow.

It had hit Merlin in waves, crest after crest, dark and foaming, salt like seaspit burning at his throat and inside his chest. There hadn’t been escape in sleep; his dreams were a muddle, twisted with Harry, replaying sepia memories interspersed with that final gunshot. He had thrown himself into his work, poured his focus into staying as far out of his own head as possible, unable to entertain a world where Harry Hart did not exist.

And then, after months of this muted existence, they had found him. He was not whole, but he was  _ here _ , and Merlin had foolishly thought it would be enough. He’d thought he could fix him, restructure and rebuild as though he were fixing a clock, have Harry ticking again as though nothing had ever happened.

But it hadn’t worked, and still he is home.

Harry stands, wearing an expression of polite curiosity, and gazes up at the neat townhouse. Eggsy unfolds out of the cab behind him, a smear of vibrant color against the monotone scene in his loud yellow jacket. His hair is still mussed from the long journey and he hauls Harry’s luggage - a single black duffel - out of the boot. He looks nervous, his smooth skin lined with worry, almost as lost as Harry. Like he doesn’t know quite what to do with a ghost anymore than Harry knows how to be one. Like he’s looking for some divine intervention, a sign from above, to tell him how to make these fractured pieces fit.

And still Merlin stands back, the frost spidering the second story window hiding him from view, and watches.

 

_ He had watched back at Statesman, too, kept a wider distance, his mouth set in a thin line as he stood in a room high above the hangar staring through the glass. Harry had moved across the tarmac far below him with all the uncharacteristic timidity of a child, still dressed in the dove gray sweat suit with his hair unstyled. His nerves had been apparent despite the marred ruin of his left eye, easing only at the sudden appearance of Eggsy - Eggsy, coming up behind him, wearing his coaxing smile. Even from afar Merlin could read the smile: the one with a hint of teasing to it, one corner of his mouth lifted higher than the other. _

_ Harry had slowed as Eggsy approached, the tension in his mouth relaxing into a small, hesitant smile, at least until Eggsy spoke. And then he had laughed - actually laughed, toothy and dimpled, and Eggsy looked as though he’d swallowed the sun. The laugh had emboldened him to put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, and Merlin had watched, far removed, as Eggsy had guided him onto the jet.  _

_ When Merlin had tried to put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, Harry had cringed away as though slapped. _

 

“Merlin?”

Eggsy’s voice cracks through the stillness of the house, jarring Merlin from his thoughts. He hears the soft, metallic sigh of several locks clicking back into place once the door is closed, and knows that Harry must be inside, too. A final glance out of the window sees the cab drawing away, leaving two neat, black scars across the pristine white.

“Merlin - hang on, Harry, hang on - Merlin, you here?”

“Yes, Eggsy. Hello, Harry.”

Eggsy’s expression slackens with momentary relief as he catches sight of Merlin descending the stairs, and Harry responds with a pleasant, bland smile.

“Yes, hello, Merlin.”

Merlin swallows down the spray of seafoam that stings high in his throat, dropping his gaze instead to the clipboard in his hands.

“Glad to see you back where you belong. Now, we’ve made the appropriate accommodations to fulfill your request...”

 

_ Harry’s request had come less than twenty-four hours ago, his eyes bright and wild with fear and panic as Ginger told him he had to go back, had to go ‘home.’ _

_ “I don’t want to go,” he’d said, clinging to the butterfly encyclopedia he’d been reading. “I don’t want to go by myself, I don’t know where I live, I don’t know-” _

_ “I’ll go too.” Eggsy’s voice had been sure and left no room for argument as he’d stepped up to Harry’s left. His eyes were blazing, set, daring anyone to challenge him, to tell him he couldn’t. Promising lethal retribution should they try. “With him. I’ll stay with him.” _

_ Harry had fallen silent, regarding Eggsy with surprised appreciation, and that seemed like it might be it. At least until Merlin had argued anyway. _

_ “Absolutely not,” he’d spat, fury at the mere implication that Eggsy somehow knew what Harry needed better than he did, lifting a hand to rest on Harry’s shoulder. “He’ll go with me, we’ll go back to-” _

_ But Merlin had never gotten to finish the sentence since Harry had recoiled from him in a sharp motion, twisting around closer to Eggsy and blinking at Merlin with mistrust. Blinking at him with the same brown eyes Merlin had known for nearly thirty years but without any recognition behind them. _

_ It had been somehow a worse gutpunch than the gunshot. _

_ “Merlin, it’s all right,” Eggsy had insisted in his gentlest voice, hideously misreading the anguished expression on Merlin’s face. “He don’t know what he’s sayin’ - he don’t know yet. Look, he trusts me, I’ll just… Stay with him a bit. Yeah? Harry?” _

_ Harry had mouthed soundlessly for a moment, words apparently failing him, until he’d finally exhaled shortly and nodded.  _

_ “Yes. Yes, alright,” he’d agreed, and Eggsy had beamed. Harry’s sweet, hesitant smile meant only for Eggsy had felt like small slices all over Merlin’s skin, falling stars pricking him on the way down. _

 

“... so you two should find everything you need to be comfortable.”

Merlin taps again on the screen of the clipboard before tucking it beneath his right arm, watching the way Harry’s eyes rove around the space. It’s bizarre, to see him taking it in as though for the first time: all of the trimmings that he himself had selected, all of the ostentatious furniture and the imported wall hangings, the plush runner and the gleaming wood.

“Right. So wha’v I got to do with him? Is there a… a protocol for this?”

“Of course.”

Merlin moves nearer to Eggsy, drawing the clipboard back out as Harry begins to move quietly away. Merlin goes still, watching him from beneath his eyelashes; beside him, he can feel that Eggsy has done the same.

“He asked about a thousand questions on the ride in from the hangar,” Eggsy says in a murmur, scrubbing a hand over the faint golden stubble at his jaw. “Wanted to know about us. Me an’ him. He … He seemed to think we was together. Before.”

Merlin bites down hard enough on his back molars to feel the ache in the roof of his mouth.

“Weren’t you?”

It’s not an appropriate question. Eggsy doesn’t seem to care.

“Nah. I mean, you know. I thought… I thought we might, maybe. Someday. Don’t think he’s ever had anyone proper, and I care about him an’ all.”

It’s a hideous understatement and Merlin might’ve huffed a laugh had he not felt like the snow from outside was now falling inside his chest, piling up, frigid and stiff. Harry had moved into the bathroom - there was a soft exclamation, pleased and surprised. He had found his butterflies.

“Well. From here on out, your handling of Harry - of Galahad, Senior - is paramount. You’ve been taken off active duty for the next week while you help him get acclimated. This is Kingsman business, Eggsy, official.”

Eggsy nods gravely, his mouth set in a firm bracket, focused as though Merlin has just placed something very valuable and very fragile into his open palms and told him to run a sprint without dropping it.

“He trusts you, Eggsy, and only you. Be patient with him. The idea is being in familiar territory - his home, with his own things - will help jog his memory. We can’t go fiddling about in his head again, not after the trauma his brain’s been through. This… is it. If he can’t remember… Maybe he can relearn.”

Eggsy nods again, his expression one of rapt determination. The snow is still falling, settling in Merlin’s gut, in his chest, sent into a flurry as Harry lets out a quiet laugh from a room adjacent - the dining room. Merlin wonders what he’s just rediscovered, thinks it might be the snobby collection of antique whisky snifters in the cabinet. 

“Right. Sure, ‘course. Everything I need to know is on here, then?”

Merlin blinks back into himself, nodding, and proceeds to walk Eggsy through the finer points of it all, speaking in his most detached, efficient voice. Eggsy nods along as he does, maintaining his silence, fidgeting slightly on the spot until Merlin finally passes the tablet into his hands.

“Just… Just take care of him, Eggsy. Alright?” Merlin says, catching Eggsy’s gaze with his own and holding it.

“‘Course I will, Merlin. ‘Course I will.”

Merlin’s attention has shifted, is fixed on the doorway Harry had last passed through. His eyes are shuttered, dark and unreadable as always, and Eggsy helps in the best way he knows how.

“Go on, Merlin, get some sleep. He’ll be alright, yeah? I ain’t gonna let him outta my sight. Go home.”

Outside the house, dawn is breaking. Flakes of white are petering out into eddies, refreshing the halo of white capping the world.

Inside of Merlin, the snow is growing heavy, stacking up and icing over, bluing his marrow until his very bones ache. Eggsy’s eyes on him are earnest, sympathetic, and they make Merlin’s anguish twist into something sharp and spiked. He means so well, this brave, loyal boy - Harry’s boy. 

Means well even as he reaches past Merlin and draws open the door, unknowingly ushering him out of the only place he’s called home for the last twenty-seven years. The home he and Harry had shared for just as long. The home he has no place in anymore.

So Merlin goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter done! How depressing! Fucking hell! If you want to rage at me, please leave a comment. If you want to tell me to cool it with the heavy-handed metaphors, feel free to also leave a comment but know that I physically don't think I can. And as always, please come talk to me on tumblr at threewickfic ♡


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin's second first night without Harry is difficult.

This first night without Harry is harder than the last first night without Harry.

His room at UK HQ feels larger, more echoing, without Harry’s improbably long frame draped across a lucky piece of furniture. The ludicrous velvet chaise had been a favorite - Harry had enjoyed stretching his body across the emerald fabric with deliberately effortless shaping, accentuating the dip before his hips as he made eyes at Merlin, wherever he was in the room.

The memory of it brings the ghost of a smile to Merlin’s mouth, a stark contrast to the fatigue stamped in circles beneath his eyes. He tears his gaze away from the lounge and moves instead to the bed - it’s made neatly, pressed and ready for him. He hasn’t slept here in months. He’d always made it a point to go home - back to  _ their _ home - where he could be near Harry, even if just his spectre. And now… and now Harry is back, in their house, and he isn’t even there.

Emotion burns at the backs of his eyes but Merlin is not a weeper. He blinks rapidly, three, four times, and then hauls his bag onto the bed. It’s stuffed full to bursting, a small relief that Eggsy hadn’t insisted on carrying it to the boot of the car, and when he upends it, thirty years of memories cascade onto the duvet.

It’s photographs, mostly - every framed photograph that had been in the house, every image of Merlin and Harry in various states of wedded bliss and even some from before. He had been careful to get them all, even the ones tucked into drawers with dog-eared corners, even the ones where Harry was blurry from laughter or Merlin was blurry in an attempt to edge out of frame. He’d never been like Harry in that regard: Harry, who had always been so sure of himself, such a glutton for attention and praise. Harry, his Harry, who is alive and well and still somehow gone from him.

Merlin picks up the photograph on top of the pile - framed in heavy gold, something fussy and ornate of Harry’s choosing. It’s the pair of them fifteen years ago, Merlin’s eyes on the camera as he grins, Harry’s eyes on Merlin as he smiles. The expression on Merlin’s face is pleased bewilderment: it had been a surprise birthday party, his entire family had been there. A rarity; most are gone now. The expression on Harry’s face is just… fondness. Just pure, naked fondness, soft lines spidering the corners of his eyes as he gazes at Merlin, nose inches from Merlin’s jaw. He looks happy, and in love, and Merlin’s chest aches.

“You fucking wanker,” Merlin says, his voice thick even though his cheeks are dry. He is not a weeper - he will not cry now. Not when this is good news, not when Harry is  _ alive _ . 

Even if he is alive with someone else.

He thinks again of Harry back at Statesman, the plain fear and mistrust in his dark eyes as Merlin had extended a soothing hand. The way he’d edged away from him, a forearm lifted in an unconscious shield, reacting to nothing as Merlin tried to tell him that he knew him, that they went way back.

He’d gotten close to saying it outright. Harry had asked him, point-blank, how he had known him.

“You were my… boss?” Harry had tried, tentative and childlike, puncturing little holes in Merlin’s heart with the sheer innocence of his ignorance.

“No, Harry,” Merlin had chuckled, trying to untangle the mess of emotions that had churned to life at seeing Harry again. “No, I don’t think anyone could’ve  _ really _ been your boss. We-”

“I don’t like what they’re saying,” Harry had interrupted, his face crumpling into something plagued and fearful. “About - about my job. That I killed people.”

Merlin’s smile had faded then, all levity gone as he stared at Harry in shock. This was not what he’d been expecting; Harry had lost his memories, sure, but not his sense of  _ self _ . He had never been this sort before, soft and delicate, and it’s as though the world has been tilted off-axis, everything sliding off-center and leaving Merlin disoriented.

“Harry - Harry, no, you didn’t - I mean, anyone that you killed, it was for a  _ reason _ . To  _ help _ people, Harry -”

“So I did, then? I killed them? I’m a killer? And you, too, if we were colleagues, you are, too-”

Harry’s mouth was terse with suppressed emotion and his eyes were overbright, his hands clutching tightly at the bed where he was sitting as he stared at Merlin.

“No - god, Harry,  _ no _ -”

“If you’ll excuse me a moment, I do believe I feel a headache coming on,” Harry had interjected tersely, the dreadful politeness swinging down like a guillotine with its air of finality. Merlin hadn’t wanted to go but they’d told him to take it slow, that there would be time to help him remember, and even though it felt like he was flaying something raw within himself, he had left Harry alone in that sea of sterile white.

Half an hour later, Merlin had been standing on the other side of the glass, his arms crossed as he watched Eggsy and Harry sitting side-by-side on Harry’s bed. Harry was showing Eggsy his encyclopedia and Eggsy was leaned over it, glancing up at Harry every now and then with a wide, earnest smile as he made little quips that Merlin couldn’t hear. That was the first time Merlin saw Harry laugh since he’d died - the first time, and it was all for Eggsy, Harry’s faintly wondrous gaze meant only for Eggsy.

He can’t blame Eggsy so he doesn’t. It’s almost unsettling, the complete lack of anger Merlin feels when he thinks of the boy, when he speaks to him. He hadn’t had any way of knowing what Harry was - what Harry  _ is _ \- to Merlin, what they were to each other.

Eggsy hadn’t been there for the tense half-decade of irritated competition, when Harry fucking Hart’s sole purpose in life had been to best Merlin, and then the ensuing half-decade when it had been to woo him. An easy task, since Merlin had always been half-in love with Harry, and his only reason for keeping any sort of distance at all was a foolish certainty that he could never be enough for a man like Harry Hart.

“Do you know how absurd that is?” Harry had said when Merlin had finally confessed this fear, sheepish and self-conscious as he lay in Harry’s cooling sheets, Harry’s head pillowed on his chest.

“It’s not,” Merlin had rebutted in an irritated mumble, cheeks blazing as he attempted to hide his face in Harry’s hair.

“Yes, it is -  _ Merlin _ , look at me. There we go, there you are, hello - no, it’s absolutely absurd because I’ve never, never in my life, met anyone as… as  _ improbable _ as you. You shouldn’t exist - you’re too many things, too many amazing, unbelievable things. Clever and fit and kind and passionate and -”

“Fuck off, Harry, for fuck’s sake-”

“No, you fuck off, you cretin, let me tell you how much I love you -”

Merlin had stopped dead in his wrestling, faintly breathless as he held Harry’s wrists fast in both his hands, eyes widening suddenly as he stared up into Harry Hart’s face, young and gorgeous and flushed with self-satisfaction even as he was held in place, effectively captured by another man.

“You - you what?”

“Yes, I fucking said it, you insufferable Scotsman - I love you. I love you, I love you, I  _ love _ you.”

And then they had proceeded to test out Harry’s box springs well into morning, something Merlin remembers now as he smoothes the creases out of a photograph showing the pair of them as gangly twenty-somethings, out of focus with bad haircuts and the self-important smiles of youth. Memories that are only his now - something he had made peace with, but now Harry is back and Merlin still has all the photographs.

Photographs that he can’t look at anymore, so he sweeps them back into his duffel bag and stows it carefully into the locked trunk at the foot of the bed. 

He cannot do the same with his wasted heart, and he sleeps fitfully that night. When he dreams, he thinks of photographs, the faces in them smearing and distorting beyond recognition until there is no one left on the still landscapes at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am slow to update but since the holidays are over I hope to be MUCH quicker! Please let me know what you think, or if the chapters are too weirdly short. I've never written anything longer than like, 10k words in one go, so this is trippy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin gets a talking-to, Harry has a Faberge egg, Eggsy eats breakfast, Roxy wears a gown.

It’s not as if no one knows, of course.

  
As much as Merlin likes to think he is an inscrutable being, neutral and stoic and hopefully a bit maddening in his unreadability, there are those who _had_ been around for the Age of Harry Hart in Love. And even if that love had cooled to a more respectable, settled ardor in recent years - as marriage and co-habitating tended to do to couples - those long years of Harry mooning over Merlin and Merlin trying and failing not to moon back were not so easily expunged.

“I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing,” one such staff member says, slamming her obscenely expensive tablet down on the desk beside Merlin’s as she collapses into the seat across from him.

“Yes, hello, Gwen,” Merlin greets her, not bothering to look up from his clipboard. He knows full well the expression she’ll be wearing - it’s the same one she’d had on when he’d told her he was moving in with Harry, the same one she’d worn when he’d said they were getting married.

“What the bloody hell d’you think is going to happen, Merlin? Do you think that tight-bodied little chav is going to help Harry remember _you_?”

“Tight-bodied, eh? A bit young for you, don’t you think, Guinevere?”

“Fuck off, you arsehole. It’s not as though Eggsy’s got eyes for anyone else - I could be dancing naked in front of him with an ice lolly halfway down my throat and he’d only ask me where I’d seen Harry last.”

Merlin chuckles wanly, tapping in an access code and pulling up Percival’s coordinates. He hasn’t budged since this the first time Merlin had checked six hours ago - good. Such is the life of a sniper.

“ _Merlin_ ,” Gwen pushes, her voice colored with exasperation and something else - worry. Merlin’s mouth tenses at the latent concern there, knowing what everyone must think of him, knowing what they all say. Knowing that there is a chance they might be right - that Harry might never remember him at all, and he and Eggsy might create something too big to surmount even if he did.

“Merlin, I’m only saying. This is fucking reckless.”

“Don’t be hyperbolic, it’s the best thing for him. Better he’s at his own house, surrounded by all his ludicrous doilies and other overpriced nan decor than in some padded cell somewhere, waiting.”

Guinevere rolls her eyes pointedly, something that’s dramatized by the lenses of her cat-eye glasses.

“Yes, quite, but isn’t it better for him to be at his own house _with his husband_ ? What fucking reason on god’s green earth is there to send _Galahad_ with him?”

Merlin frowns slightly at the codename; he still hasn’t entirely gotten used to Eggsy adopting Harry’s moniker, not even a year down the road. Guinevere doesn’t seem to notice.

“I mean, I love the boy, Merlin, he’s cheeky and has a wonderful heart, but… Look, I don’t want to be a prick, but don’t you think… Don’t you think Harry had a bit of a… _thing_ for him?”

Merlin snorts, eyes still focused on where he’s drawing up a list of coordinates for target warehouses in Peru.

“There’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one,” he answers distractedly, brow furrowing slightly as he spreads his fingertips across the screen, zooming in on an overhead view of an abandoned concrete bungalow. He adds its coordinates to the list.

“What, so you _knew_ Harry fancied him?”

Finally, Merlin sighs, glancing up from his tablet with the beginnings of irritation creasing his expression.

“Yes, of course I knew. I lived with him, we slept in the same bloody bed, Eggsy Unwin was Harry’s favorite topic for a good month and a half. I don’t _mind_ about that, Harry’s always falling in and out of love. You remember Bedivere’s predecessor, surely?”

Guinevere has the decency to feign polite confusion, but Merlin narrows his eyes at her. She huffs and shrugs.

“Yes but that was only sex, wasn’t it? Bedivere never felt the same about him, she used to moan endlessly about how tedious conversation with him was, all he ever talked about was Merlin this, Merlin that-”

“Point being that Harry is free to do what he likes,” Merlin interrupts, the boredom back in his voice as his gaze returns to his screen. Percival is still stationery, the good lad. “I married him, I didn’t bloody buy away his autonomy. And right now Eggsy is who he feels most comfortable with. If that’s what it takes to get our top agent back, so be it.” He taps a green circle on his screen. Somewhere, several countries away, a silo full of dynamite explodes.

“Oh, listen to you,” Guinevere grouses, finally dragging her own tablet toward herself and keying the screen on. Lancelot’s picture fills the corner, her vitals blipping to life just below: based on her even, elevated heartrate, she’s running.

“‘Our top agent’ - it’s like this is all just Kingsman business, like your own bloody husband isn’t shacked up with some young thing, forgotten all about you. Don’t you even _care_ -?”

She stops midsentence, her words faltering as Merlin’s gaze snaps up, spearing her in place with a searing glare.

“Don’t you ask me that,” Merlin spits, his brogue coarse and gravelled in his sudden quiet fury. “Don’t you _dare_ ask me that. Of course I care - of _course_ I fucking care. That’s my husband - that’s my whole life. That’s everything I have, everything I love, put into the hands of a new recruit who’s hopelessly in love with him. But what the hell would you have me do? He - he flinches away when I touch him, he looks at me like I’m a stranger. He’s fucking _scared_ of me, Gwen. But Eggsy… He looks at Eggsy like… like...”

And suddenly Merlin can’t say it, can’t finish the thought. _Like he used to look at me_.

Instead, he exhales a sharp, short sigh, taking off his glasses to run a hand over his face. Their absence exacerbates the dark semi-circles clinging to his eyes. It’s been a long, sleepless week.

“I’m sorry,” Guinevere says after a beat, her voice gentled. Merlin’s pressing his fingertips against his eyelids, eyes squeezed shut as though a headache is coming on, and he appreciates the sudden warmth of Gwen’s hand on his where it’s resting atop the desk.

“I’m sorry for saying that. Of course you care - of course you do. Harry’ll come around. He’s bound to. You don’t just forget that much love, do you? Not even with a bullet to the brain. Not our Harry.”

She pats him across his knuckles, and Merlin drops his hand from his face. He nods curtly, not bothering to force a smile, and slides his glasses back on. He makes to withdraw his hand from hers but she holds it fast, forcing him to glance up and read the hesitance on her expression - she’s clearly not done speaking, if the apology tensing her eyes is any indication. He scowls at her.

“But maybe… Maybe telling Eggsy? Just to make sure they don’t… You know.”

Merlin grits his teeth at the unfinished insinuation, before clearing his throat and smoothing himself back out.

“That’s not relevant to the mission. If Eggsy knows, Harry might find out, and it might… It might undo his progress.”

He doesn’t say what he’s really thinking, what he really fears might happen if Harry finds out. Instead, he watches as Percival’s glasses blip to life across his screen, as his target finally strolls into view and Percival lines up the barrel of his gun.

“And anyway, this is hardly Kingsman business, we’ve got bad guys to kill,” Merlin says, glancing up briefly from Percival’s view to gesture vaguely at Guinevere’s tablet. Roxy's face is now filling the screen, staring at herself in a mirror - she’s wearing a cocktail gown, dark folds of satin falling down her frame in a flattering pour.

“It is when it’s got three agents tangled up in it,” Guinevere pushes in a half-mumble, though obediently sets out to working as Roxy starts rattling off a list of names she’d gotten at the gala.

On Merlin’s screen, Percival takes aim and fires - it’s a clean kill and then Percival is on the move, sprinting back for cover, for the van that will carry him to safety.

For a flickering, dark moment, Merlin envies him. He, too, wants to run, to run from this ugly reality and his persistent fear that Harry might never remember him again. Or that even if he did, he’d still choose Eggsy. That he might simply shoot what he and Merlin had had right between the eyes, cull it swiftly and decisively, and move on.

To be left by Harry Hart, Merlin is sure, is a fate far worse than death.

xxx

 

“Nah, he’s doing loads better - really, Merlin, I think he’s nearly there, he’s remembering loads of stuff these days.”

Eggsy’s speaking through a mouth stuffed full of eggs and toast, bits of yolk gathering at the corners as he wolfs down his breakfast. It would be appalling were it anyone but Eggsy, but Merlin always finds the speed and intensity with which he eats to be more fascinating and impressive than anything else.

“Like just last week, he pulled out some horrid old egg-thing and nearly pissed himself, couldn’t believe he had one. Dunno why he was so excited, it was fuck-ugly - anyway, kept calling it a Fabridge Egg, said he’d always wanted one, was bangin’ on about it an’ all. Then he just sort of… went rigid and excused himself, clutching this egg, with this screwed up look on his face.”

Eggsy paused in his retelling to inhale an unholy amount of sausage and Merlin did his best not to look as irritated as he felt at this interruption. It wasn’t a very good best; he was outright scowling by the time Eggsy finished, impatient for Harry’s breakthrough.

“Sorry - so then he comes back out ‘bout a quarter of an hour later, says he remembers getting the egg for his birthday but can’t remember which one. And _here’s_ the kicker - he says he thinks you were there! Did you get him that shit egg as a gift, Merlin, cuz if so, you are _not_ invited to my birthday…”

Eggsy continues chattering happily on in between bites of breakfast but Merlin is busy making notes in his tablet, unnecessarily detailed as he processes this information.

It was two weeks to the day of Harry coming home and this was the second of these check-ins Merlin had had with Eggsy.

The first had been as disappointing as it had been painful: Eggsy had come into headquarters, cheerful as can be, telling Merlin all of the hilarious things Harry got up to when left to his own devices. Things like taking his tea with entirely too much sugar and always sitting on the exact same spot on the sofa. Watching a shocking amount of reality television, having a penchant for bubble baths - ‘like he’s a bloody mum-of-four, Merlin, I swear to you’ - and insisting on lighting candles if the windows were open.

“To keep the wet cement smell out,” Merlin had supplied absently at that one, and Eggsy had stared at him as though he’d grown two heads.

“ _Yes_. Is it - what, is this some fuckin’ generational thing, then? Who the fuck lights a candle to get rid of that smell? That’s not even a smell, mate, that’s just - that’s just outside.”

That meeting had ended with Merlin feeling sour and quiet, something that Guinevere had later chided him for since apparently Eggsy had approached her to ask if Merlin was ‘angry with him.’ This time, Merlin had made a mental note to be gentler with Eggsy, to perfect the ‘neutral investment’ stance he’d determined to adopt.

Of course, that was easier said than done, especially since Harry was apparently carrying about the Faberge egg his mother had gotten him for his thirty-fifth birthday. A ludicrous gift, one that he and Merlin had laughed themselves silly over, at least until Harry had confessed amidst actual tears of mirth later that evening that he quite liked it.

“It gives us a touch of sophistication,” he’d decided, eyeing the egg where it squatted on the bedclothes. He and Merlin had been playing catch with it, and that’s where it had fallen between Merlin’s outstretched fingers.

“Harry Hart, don’t you dare put that thing in our house,” Merlin had countered, sensing yet another bicker about decor. Specifically, how Harry had the interior design taste of someone’s great-nan.

Harry’s response had been to swipe up the egg and sprint downstairs, Merlin close at his heels, the pair of them half-giggling as Harry stopped in front of the mantle and gingerly placed it front and center.

“Look, we’re _wealthy_ now,” he had declared, beaming and stepping back to admire his handiwork.

“Harry, you were _born_ wealthy,” Merlin had responded exasperatedly, forever exhausted by how maddening and ridiculous his husband was.

And so had begun a years-long battle between the pair of them, with Merlin hiding it in increasingly more skillful hiding places and Harry finding it to display it in increasingly inconvenient places. It seemed Harry had found it, where it was nestled, safely wrapped, in the water tank of a toilet - collectors everywhere would cry if they knew - and was now carting it around the house.

It’s such a familiar, perfect image that Merlin’s gut feels simultaneously twisted and hollow, his expression screwed up as he types in a shorthand version of Eggsy’s retellings.

“So no other signs, then? Not outside of the egg?”

“Nah. Well - sometimes he asks about work and things, wants to know about people from the office. He remembers some, I think, y’know, the older blokes who’ve been here for ages. Oh, and you - he asks about you, wants to know where you’ve gone, why you don’t come ‘round that often. That sort of thing.”

At this bit of information, Merlin’s head snaps up so quickly he nearly gives himself whiplash; he blinks owlishly at Eggsy, mouth opening and closing as he struggles to find words that won’t indict him.

“He - he asks about me? Why me? What sort of things?”

Eggsy shrugs, unable to answer straightaway due to the marmalade he’s just delivered to his mouth via toast, and Merlin decides that Eggsy’s eating actually is appalling.

“Just - you know. He wants to know about Kingsman, and since he still thinks you were his ‘boss,’ he asks about you. What you do here. That sort of thing.”

The momentary hope that had soared high in Merlin’s chest crumples and withers, dissipating into nothing as his shoulders slump.

“Ah. Right, of course. And you two? How’re you two getting along?”

Eggsy drags the back of his hand across his mouth, groaning in a satisfied way and leaning back in his chair. He’s in his street clothes today, flatbill snapback and garish jacket, and Merlin’s been so accustomed to it that they don’t even look outlandish in the Kingsman HQ cafeteria.

“Um… Fine, I guess. He smiles loads more, loves JB. He takes him on walks and things, but don’t worry, I always let another agent know if he’s gone outside when I’m not there.”

Merlin doesn’t bother telling Eggsy that there’s no need; he’s got the house heavily monitored, knows every time a door or window opens and exactly who leaves and for how long. Far better to have too much surveillance than not enough.

“He still doesn’t like getting close to people. Won’t let me hug him or nothin’ - I tried it a couple times, when he was seeing the butterflies and seemed panicked, but he just sort of shrugged me off and went to have one of his baths.”

There’s a distinct surliness to these words and Merlin feels an ugly, savage relief; he knows that Harry needs to get better, knows that it’s _good_ if he’s allowing contact, but he can’t quite let go of Guinevere’s words: ‘like your own bloody husband isn’t shacked up with some young thing, forgotten all about you.’

“Very good, Eggsy. Anything else you want to add?”

“Nah. Nah, that’s it, I think. Oh - I’ll be leavin’ town in a bit to go see my mum and my sister, d’you think you could come stay with him? I could bring him but I don’t want to upset him, and -”

“No, no, quite right, Eggsy. I’ll stay with him,” Merlin promises, heart leaping again at the chance though he keeps his expression neat and professional. The same can’t be said for Eggsy, who beams at him and leans over the table to cuff him on the shoulder.

“Thanks, bruv. You’re the best. Oh, and have you handled Roxy lately? On a mission?”

“No, she’s usually with Guinevere, why?” Merlin answers, back to fiddling about on his tablet.

“No reason,” Eggsy says, a distinct trace of smugness to the words that has Merlin glancing up and frowning at him. Sure enough, Eggsy is smirking, that damned hat making him look all the more shit-eating.

“Go on, then, spit it out,” Merlin grouses, and Eggsy grins at him.

“Nah, mate. I’m a good friend - _loyal_ . But maybe you should take over for Gwen a bit, see if you can’t _handle_ Roxy yourself.”

Merlin catches the hamfisted innuendo but has absolutely no idea what Eggsy is on about, resisting the urge to roll his eyes as he instead powers off his tablet and steals the remnants of Eggsy’s toast.

“Oi!” Eggsy yelps in offense, but Merlin’s already chewing it, settled back into his seat as he pops the jam-sticky tip of his finger into his mouth.

“Be careful with that, lad. I’ve seen Roxy in hand-to-hand combat and I’ve seen you in hand-to-hand combat; she would wipe the floor with you,” Merlin warns good-naturedly, kicking Eggsy’s winged-trainered foot playfully beneath the table.

“You are too bloody right,” Eggsy responds, and Merlin flashes him a rare, honest smile.

It’s hard not to feel at least a _little_ heartened. Harry remembers the egg, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't lie to you all: I also don't know where this is going. But let's find out together?!?! If you have any suggestions, let me know on tumblr at threewickfic! I love love talking Kingsman fic to anyone and everyone ♡ Or just leave a comment here, any comment, since they feed my soul and make me want to keep writing this nonsense.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Eggsy kiss, and Merlin sees.

“To your right, Bors, just beneath that laminate, there’s a door - heavy, iron. Down you go, it’ll take you into the basement.”

Merlin watched through the green-tinted screen of Bors’ nightvision glasses as the hidden door was hefted up, Bors’ legs going down first before his entire body was swallowed up by darkness. It might have been unnerving had Merlin not sent Lancelot and Percival down this exact same passageway just last week and watched with bated breath as they spilled out into a perfectly ordinary apartment basement.

“Excellent. Now it’s just a matter of getting out of the building undetected - out the side, down the corridor, through the emergency exit. Go now.”

Bors obeyed automatically, setting out through the darkened room as Merlin settled back into his chair. He took off his glasses, pinching at the bridge of his nose in an effort to stave off the low, building headache behind it. It did little to help; nothing did these days. He felt as though he’d had a headache for the past year, ever since the church.

Before him, there were four monitors stacked in pairs, three of them showing Bors’ feed. The fourth was dark - Eggsy wasn't wearing his glasses. He didn't usually, not unless Merlin had instructed him to, but every now and then he’d put them on at home, usually to poke around in his private files, to review things. He didn't know yet that doing so activated his camera feed, something that Merlin had been meaning to tell him… At least until he’d moved in with Harry.

“Merlin - I can’t get the door open, it’s locked - psscode?”

“Ah -”

Merlin blinked out of his own thoughts, leaning forward to quickly tap in a convoluted series of keystrokes before dutifully delivering the key code. Bors shoved out into the corridor, his breathing sharp and low over the speakers, crisis momentarily averted.

And then suddenly the fourth monitor blinked on.

It was a view of Eggsy’s legs on the bed, kicked out in front of him and bare. He was rifling through files, pulling up his briefing packet for his mission on Thursday -  _ good boy _ , Merlin thought approvingly. He could tell from the soft cornflower blue of the rumpled sheets that Eggsy was in the guest bedroom, something that came as a selfish relief. If Eggsy was still sleeping in the guest bedroom, then that must have meant things between Harry and Eggsy haven’t...

“Cleared for exit?”

Bors was breathless; he’d been running. His heartrate reflected as much, and Merlin tore his attention back to the mission at hand.

“Yes,” he answered after the briefest pause, swiping one of the screens open into Percival’s feed of the armored truck he’s driving. “Straight into the cargo truck, Bors, on my mark - hold it… Hold…  _ Go _ .”

Bors tookoff in a sprint, heading straight for the truck. On the screen beside, Eggsy began to hum tunelessly as he read the briefing packet, drawing one knee up to his chest. Merlin now had an unobstructed view of the wall opposite, the hunter-green wallpaper discolored in a single, rectangular spot. Almost as though there had been something hanging there once, a portrait of some kind.

“Merlin,” Eggsy’d said a month after living with Harry, “why’d’you take away all the pictures?"

Merlin had considered denying it only for a moment but had known it was pointless. Eggsy was cleverer than that; if Merlin gave an unsatisfactory answer, Eggsy would doubtlessly do some digging of his own, and who knew what that would produce.

“Didn’t want to upset him,” Merlin had supplied shortly, not glancing up from where he was tooling with a new glasses prototype. “Seeing memories he can’t remember, with people he doesn’t remember - sensory overload, and all.”

“Yeah, but… But they could help. He asks loads of questions, I don’t know all the answers, if there was some sort of photo album or, you know. Book of photos -”

“I’m sorry Harry’s amnesia doesn’t come with an instruction manual, Eggsy,” Merlin had interrupted tersely, regretting it an instant later. He could tell by Eggsy’s uncharacteristic silence that his snappish reply had taken the agent aback, and he’d lifted his gaze, preparing to apologize.

It hadn’t been offense on Eggsy’s expression, however; it’d been something more shrewd, brow furrowed and mouth downturned as Eggsy studied him.

“You alright, Merlin?” he’d asked in a would-be casual voice, leaning against the table behind him and crossing his arms.

“‘Course I am. Bit tired, is all.” Merlin had returned his gaze to the glasses, inwardly cursing himself for the bite of his words. He could’ve played it off like a quip had he not sounded so irritated - fuck, maybe he  _ was _ a bit tired.

“Yeah? Well, you’ve been tired for awhile now. Ever since we got back from Statesman.”

There had been a trace of accusation in the words, laced with the faintest, barest vestiges of hurt. Merlin felt a twist of guilt in his gut but didn’t acknowledge the words, not sure how he could convince Eggsy that his very founded suspicions were completely wrong. Mercifully, Eggsy spared him the trouble, tone softened considerably.

“ … You sure you’re alright, mate? You know you can… Talk to me. If you need to, or whatever. Been told I’m an ace listener an’ all.”

Merlin’s lingering aggravation had dissipated entirely at this awkward, sweet offer, his shoulders slumping as he exhaled heavily through his mouth. He’d stilled his hands at the glasses, still blinking at them, before finally answering in a softened, apologetic tone,  “That’s kind, Eggsy. No, I’m really just… tired. Go on, you. You’ve got a flight to Bolivia in a half hour and I know for a fact you haven’t packed your kit.”

He’d straightened up and flashed Eggsy a rare, small smile, one that Eggsy had reciprocated with a dazzling, puppyish grin of his own.

“Right-o, boss,” he’d said cheerfully, prancing past Merlin toward the door and giving a comical yelp as Merlin swatted at his arse on the way out.

And now Merlin was sitting in a darkened room, the exhaustion beneath his eyes illuminated by the blue glow of his monitors. Bors gave him a breathless, triumphant all-clear - he was in the truck, his mission was up, and from here it was a straight shot back to the hangar. Merlin could leave now, could go back to his room in headquarters and try to finally catch sleep, but… 

He leaned forward in his chair, staring at the familiar wallpaper of his home and the shape Eggsy’s well-muscled thigh made on the sheets. He felt strangely soothed, seeing into Harry’s life even in this peripheral, roundabout way, peeking into his house and seeing a sight that he might see on a regular basis.

He could see what Eggsy was reading, hear the gentle, comforting cadence of his breathing. It was as close as he’d come to proper companionship in so long that Merlin found himself pulling the chair closer, dropping one elbow to the desk and resting his chin on his palm. It technically wasn’t a breach of privacy - the glasses were on, after all - but it felt a bit odd, voyeuristic in a way he doubted Eggsy would appreciate.

_ Just a moment more _ , Merlin told himself, watching as Eggsy brought a hand up to his face to idly bite at a thumbnail.  _ Just a bit longer, then I’ll _ -

“Eggsy?”

Merlin’s heart slammed up into his throat, sudden and unexpected and swollen, the familiar sound of Harry’s voice making him feel simultaneously too hot and too cold. It wasn’t a conscious decision but the next thing he knew he was leaning so close to the screen it was as though he intended to topple right through it, breath caught in his throat as Eggsy turned and Merlin was greeted with the sight of his husband.

Harry’s tall, lean form was framed by the doorway, his expression pleasant - no,  _ happy _ \- as he clutched Eggsy’s pug to his chest.

“Lovely, you’re here - I just took JB out. I let him off the lead again, he chased some pigeons in the park - oh. You were working. Sorry, I’ll -”

“No!” Merlin and Eggsy said simultaneously, Merlin reflexively pressing one hand to the screen right where Harry had been. But Eggsy was moving now, readjusting himself, giving Merlin a view of his crotch in his track shorts as he spoke.

“No, hang on, Harry, come on, I’ll take these off, here -”

“Fucking - bloody hell,” Merlin exhaled sharply miles and miles away, frantically pulling up Eggsy’s software and keying in a rapid series of strokes to bypass his decision. This  _ was _ a flagrant invasion of privacy but Merlin couldn’t find it within himself to care too much right now, not when he had been so close to Harry for that brief, shining moment.

The screen flickered dark for a split second, Eggsy’s thumbprint having turned them off - and then, just as quickly, it blipped back to life, giving Merlin a view of the middle of the room. He could now see Eggsy’s back where he was sitting on his heels on the bed, facing Harry’s torso where he was still standing in the doorway. More keystrokes from Merlin - the view expanded, technology working miracles as the entire room filled his display.

“I was only reading some bollocks for a meeting tomorrow, dead boring anyway. Here, c’mere, come sit,” Eggsy said cheerfully, speaking in a tone somewhere between self-conscious and smitten, a voice Merlin had certainly never heard him use around Kingsman before.

Harry looked pleased at the offer, moving nearer to the bed and perching at the edge of it. He released JB, who promptly trundled to the edge of the bed and hopped off, leaving the pair of them alone. Alone save for Merlin, who was staring at Harry with his mouth slightly open, looking like a thirsting man who had just been presented with a jugful of cold, clean water, held just out of rich.

“So pigeons, eh? How many’d he catch?” Eggsy asked, and Merlin could hear the grin in his voice, felt his heart skip a beat or three as Harry grinned back.

“None, that daft dog. Takes after you, boorish as ever, lacks finesse.”

The teasing was so domestic and affectionate that Merlin found himself smiling despite it all, thinking of how Harry had once said the same sorts of things to him - ‘you impossible Scot,’ ‘you insufferable genius,’ ‘you beautiful mess,’ ‘you gorgeous pervert.’

“Needs you to teach him some manners, then, I figure,” Eggsy volleyed back, rolling his shoulders back and cracking his knuckles. Harry grimaced; he hated that noise, Merlin knew all too well. “Did you remember anything good today?”

“No. Well, yes - perhaps. I found a book,  _ Encyclopaedia of Insects _ \- I remember it, I remember that my nan gave it to me as a boy. I went to look for her inscription and there it was, so that’s something, I suppose.”

Judging by the pattern of the conversation, Merlin got the sense that this was a routine for them, a question-and-answer with Harry reporting in on what he’d remembered that day. He felt a searing burst of envy toward Eggsy; he wanted to be there, to be the one quizzing Harry and helping him. He could have, but he’d been a coward.

“Whey, well done! That’s  _ definitely _ something, Harry. We’ve just got to get you into this millennium and you’ll be your old self in no time!”

Eggsy’s positivity was infectious as always and Harry smiled back at him, carding a hand through his dark hair. Merlin couldn’t help but notice how bare his left ring finger was - not unusual, Harry hadn’t ever worn his wedding ring with any regularity. Thoughtlessly, Merlin touched his where it rested over his sternum.

“What were you just reading when I came in?” Harry asked curiously, nodding at the glasses and giving Merlin the sudden, momentary sensation of eye contact, just long enough for his gut to hollow out before Harry’s focus was back on Eggsy.

“What? Ah - right. Just… you know. Crime reports, criminal backgrounds, that sort of thing. Sounds loads cooler than it is.”

“Your work… Do you like it?” Harry asked curiously, cocking his head slightly as he studied Eggsy. He looked so impossibly soft, still Harry the lepidopterist, his hands resting neatly on his lap, his hair boyishly styled. Merlin tried to swallow the walnut-sized lump in his throat.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. ‘S helping people, you know? Not easy but worth it. And Harry… That’s  _ our _ work. Yours, too. You was an agent, too. Like I told you before.”

Eggsy’s voice held the patient gentleness of someone repeating something that hadn’t been well-received the last time he’d tried, and Merlin watched Harry’s expression with rapt attention, waiting for the crumpling that had happened when he’d attempted the very same conversation. But it never came.

Instead, Harry studied Eggsy, mouth a line of inscrutable emotion, hands twisting slowly together in his lap. Eggsy, too, was holding still, as though fearful of spooking Harry. Merlin was holding his breath.

“I… I can’t imagine I’d have been a very good one,” Harry finally said, voice quiet and sad, the vulnerability of it lancing Merlin through like an arrow.

“Nah, nah - none of that,” Eggsy dismissed immediately, shifting forward on the bed toward Harry, giving Merlin a view of both of their profiles. He could see the earnestness in Eggsy’s eyes, the honest-to-god love as he studied Harry fiercely, imploringly.

“Harry, you - you were the best. Best of the best, I’m tellin’ ya. Why do you think we won’t just let you go retire in some mad greenhouse already, left alone with you and your bugs? We  _ need _ you, Harry.”

Eggsy paused, time suddenly seeming to contract and tighten in preparation for his next words. Merlin could feel them, could hear them before Eggsy said them, could tell suddenly where this was going - they were so close on the bed, too close, Harry’s posture straight and perfect as always though he was leaning slightly forward, angling his face purposefully toward Eggsy.

“Eggsy,” Merlin murmured despite himself, feeling a wild sort of desperation, wishing now that he’d followed Gwen’s advice and told him. Because he’d never been surer of it than right now that if Eggsy and Harry pushed forward with this that Harry would never, no matter what, ever come back to him. 

_ Reckless _ , Gwen had called him - he felt the weight of it now, felt suddenly how reckless he had been as he watched Eggsy staring at Harry with naked, open longing, with an ardor so deep that Harry seemed caught beneath it

“ _ I _ need you,” Eggsy finished, just as Merlin had predicted. Merlin watched as Harry stared right back at Eggsy. It was inevitable - he shouldn’t watch. He had known this might happen, had made peace with it. And this might not even be the first time; for all he knew, they’d done this before, they did this often, this was just how things were.

Except he knew that wasn’t true.

He could tell by the hesitation on Harry’s face that this was a first - the way he lifted a hand and slid it testingly against Eggsy’s cheek, the way he drew him cautiously near, the way Eggsy let himself be pulled, pliant as putty, lips parted and readied as he tilted his face up. The way he wilted into Harry’s body and allowed Harry to kiss him.

And the kiss held all the sweet hesitance of a first kiss, the careful angling of faces and shifting of lips. Merlin’s hand was still pressed to the screen, an awful quiet blanketing his mind as he watched Harry kiss Eggsy with nothing but passion and love. The kiss deepened quickly - it moved from sweet to more, Harry’s hand moving to rest along the back of Eggsy’s neck, Eggsy’s hands sliding up to clutch at Harry’s jumper - the jumper Merlin had bought him an entire lifetime ago - and draw him closer.

“Enough,” Merlin said to no one, his voice little more than a whisper as he blinked back an awful dryness in his eyes. “That’s enough.”

And, with the image of Harry and Eggsy burned into his mind, Merlin shut the screen into blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what should happen next, I'm on tumblr at @threewick. Or leave comments bc I love them <3


End file.
